


To the Wild Country

by clgfanfic



Category: Stingray (US TV), War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 06:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray crosses paths with a group hunting aliens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the Wild Country

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Small Favors Repaid and later in Green Floating Weirdness #6 and Black Ops #8 under the pen name Gillian Holt.

 

_"And that, young lady, is not a feat easily accomplished."_

 

### September 17, 1990

 

          Aen Sutton Laird released her hold on the large Malamute's nylon collar, McCarthy immediately disappearing around the back of the rustic two-story house in three bounds and a wave of his tail.  Aen and her shadow weren't due for another three days, so Dad was in for a very wet, furry surprise.

          Drawing a deep breath, she savored the heavy scent of pine hanging in the air.  The weathered wood and stone residence – more research station than family home – sat on the crest of a small but steep hill overlooking Klutina lake.  Warped steps led up to the house from the front and back side of the hill, providing access from the pair of floating docks bobbing along the lake shore, one for boats and one for the aquatic planes.  The Alaskan wilderness spread out in all directions, the Wrangell Mountains dominating the western sky, wild but welcoming.

          She smiled and laughed aloud.  It was good to be home.

          Aen had enjoyed the last eight months she had spent near San Francisco, attending classes at Stanford, but she missed the quiet, rugged beauty of home.  She missed her dad, and this vacation was already feeling far too short at ten days.

          The dog's deep bark echoed from the backyard.  McCarthy was glad to be home, too.  The large wolf-mix had whined sporadically from the time they took off from the San Francisco seaplane dock until Aen had landed the pale red Beaver on the familiar dark blue lake top.  She had buzzed the house once, to see if her father was home, but no one had emerged.

          He must be out with the wolves, she had decided, securing lines to the floating dock.

          Her grandparents must be watching the place, in case she got home early, she thought, staring at the tiny wisps of smoke curling lazily from the two slightly crooked chimneys.  Her eyes filled with tears.

          _Boy, you'd think I was homesick or something_ , she scolded herself.

          Being away at college when you're seventeen was traumatic, even for a "gifted child".  She wrinkled her nose at the label.  Was it her fault if her parents crammed her head full of all sorts of interesting things while she was growing up?  Scottish-born James Campbell Laird was a well-known field zoologist.  His work on Alaskan wolves, orcas, and bears had won him several grants from prestigious foundations and universities.  But the light blue smoke reminded the young woman of her mother, Mary Annette Sawbear, a half-South Alaskan Eskimo, half-Eyak Indian.

          Mary Sawbear ran into Aen's father, literally, while out sledding one day.  A recent graduate in Anthropology, she had returned to her home in order to teach at the University in Anchorage.  The pair courted for a respectable two years, then married.  Nine months later, Aen was born in the middle of a snowstorm, Mary and her husband trapped in the small community of Sutton with only a local Inuit midwife.

          Her mother had died when Aen was twelve, the girl and her father filling the hole in their lives with their love for one another, but Mary was still missed.  Then it was time for Aen to take the scholarship in the biological sciences at Stanford.  She hadn't wanted to go, but she had promised her mother.

          Pushing the short black hair off her forehead, and swiping at a tear that managed to escape, Aen watched a lone sea eagle dive for the lake surface, plucking out a fish before climbing back into the blue sky.  There was so much to learn, and so much she didn't want to forget.

          McCarthy's barking growing more clamorous, drawing her attention, and she headed around the house to see what had the animal so upset.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          James Laird watched the approaching floating dock, frowning at the large dog standing there, barking.  The memories told him it was McCarthy, and that Aen must be there as well.  He glanced at his two companions.  They could not be discovered.  The breeding had been successful, and all that remained was to ensure that this human had left no evidence of their activity.

          He maneuvered the small outboard into its slip along a second floating dock on the far side of the house.  The threesome would search the structure and remove any obstacles that might endanger their mission – like the young woman.  The others had already flown out of the area, erasing the line of evidence to cover their entrance to Alaska.

          "Dad!" Aen called after reaching the edge of the backyard.  Her green eyes twinkled with affection while she watched the approaching boat.  "I'm home early!" she yelled.

          McCarthy rushed down the hill to small dock and prowled along the lake bank, barking.

          "Quiet, Mac!" she yelled at the dog.

          James Laird stepped out, tying off the boat, then wiping his hands along his pant-legs.  It was then he saw Aen notice the two strangers still sitting in the boat. The pair stood and climbed out to join James.  They proceeded up the dock, talking among themselves.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Aen frowned.  It wasn't like her father to ignore her or McCarthy's greetings, especially after they had been gone for eight months.  The grim expressions on the faces of the strangers bothered her as well.  Something must be wrong.

          At the shore, the Malamute bounded up to meet the man, but stopped short, the ruff across his shoulders rising as his ears flattened back along his broad head.  A growl, loud enough to drown out the buzz of their conversation, echoed over the landscape.

          "Mac!" Aen called.  What was wrong with that dog?  The Malamute backed away, his teeth bared.  "Mac, come here!  Sorry!" she called to the two strangers, and added what she hoped was a friendly wave.  Who was her father hanging around with these days?

          The pair, a man and a woman, continued to speak to her father in a foreign language, but not one she recognized.  _This is weird_ , she thought, her own concern beginning to climb.  _Dad can't speak anything but Gaelic and English and a little Inuit.  Who the heck are these people?_

          "Dad?" she called down.  "Can you help me unload?"

          Looking up at the young woman, James Laird smiled and gave his daughter a short wave.  Then, leaving the other two at the bottom of the hill, he trotted up the weather-warped stairs to join her.

          Seeing the man headed for Aen, McCarthy scrambled up the rocky incline and reached the girl first.  James stopped several feet short when the Malamute launched into a fit of snarling.

          "Honey, what's wrong with Mac?" James asked, shoving his balled fists into his pockets.  The damned dog could sense his presence in the host body.

          "I don't know, Dad," she said, reaching out to grab the large canine's collar and giving it a jerk.  "Stop it, Mac, that's Dad.  What's wrong with you?  Sit."  The dog obeyed, but watched the approaching man suspiciously.

          "Why don't you put him in the house, honey?  He's making my guests nervous."

          Aen smiled.  Her father had gotten weird after a few months without her.  He knew they couldn't leave Mac inside alone or he would tear the place to shreds.

          "He'll be okay.  I guess the flight was a little too much for him.  I'll hold on to him until they're in the house."  Aen stepped forward, intending to give her father a hug, but the Malamute was immediately in the way, blocking her path.  "Mac!  Enough already!" she scolded.

          The smile the man had worn dropped away, and he spat out something in the same exotic language Aen had heard earlier.  Reaching down by the stack of wood stumps that still needed to be cut into kindling for the fireplace and the wood-burning stove, he picked up the ever-sharp ax, removed the blade cover, and hefted it.

          "Dad?  That's _not_ funny."

          McCarthy lunged away from the swinging blade, his attention split between the two strangers coming up the stairs and the man who was already attacking them.

          Aen scrambled back, her hiking boots catching in the loose earth and she fell, disbelief stunning her as her father lifted the ax over his shoulder and turned towards her.  Shoving herself off the ground, the young woman dashed for the house, the dog at her heels.  Together they fled through the unlocked back door.

          Slamming the door shut behind her, Aen twisted the seldom used deadbolts into place as the three adults converged on the back porch.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Aen sat pressed into the corner of the living room couch, hugging a quilt her mother had made around her shoulders.  In front of the burning fireplace, her grandfather stood, watching the flames, while her grandmother sat nearby, hands clasped in her lap and a worried expression etched deep into the wrinkles on her face.

          "You're sure, now, you shot three people?" the old Indian man asked, tilting his head so he could watch the girl.

          She nodded, gaze still locked unseeing on the glowing red logs.

          "Where are the bodies, girl?"

          Charlie Sawbear and his wife, Anna, had answered the phone two hours earlier only to find their granddaughter on the other end, in near hysterics.  Unable to make sense of what she was trying to tell them, Charlie put one of the neighborhood children who hung around their house on the line to keep Aen talking while he and Anna drove over to his son-in-law's house.

          They had found the young woman in the living room, huddled in the corner, her father's revolver in her hands.  Once they disarmed her, she had lapsed into tears, which lasted for nearly an hour.  When she could finally explain, the tale was nearly unbelievable.  She had killed three people, shot them, when they had attacked her and McCarthy for no apparent reason.

          "Who were they, Aen?" Charlie asked for at least the tenth time.

          "I don't— I don't know," she finally stuttered.  "Two of them were strangers, a man and a woman, professors, I think, and— and…"  She started to cry again.

          "Aen, damn it, who was the third?  Did he hurt you?"

          "It was Daddy," she whispered.

          "What?" Anna Sawbear asked, scooting closer to the young woman on the sofa, and reaching out to wrap an arm around her shoulders.  "That's not possible, child.  He's out taking pictures of the wolves.  He wasn't expecting you until day after tomorrow and won't be back 'til then."

          "It was him!" Aen snapped, then apologized to the old woman.

          "If you shot these people, where are the bodies?" her grandfather demanded again.

          The girl's green eyes locked on a puddle of slightly frothy slime which had taken on the consistency of dirty warm lime Jell-o.  The old man's gaze followed hers.  There were two more of the strange puddles in the house.

          "They-they… melted."

          "Melted?"

          "I shot Daddy, and he melted…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Aen lay awake in her bed, listening to her grandparent's voices drifting up from the living room downstairs.  They were trying to decide what to do.

          "They think I'm nuts," she whispered to the dog.  "Maybe I am, huh, Mac?"  She rolled over, letting her arm hang over the edge of the bed so she could scratch the big dog's head.  "That would be better.  Dad would still be alive…"  Her fingers curled into the thick neck fur.  "What am I going to do, Mac?  They won't believe me.  It's too weird.  I don't want to believe it, but I _saw_ it."

          Earlier, trying to prove to her that her father was still out at the research site, her grandmother had tried calling her son-in-law on the powerful two-way radio, but silence was the only reply.  He was dead.  Aen knew it with a certainly she couldn't deny.  But why?  And why like that?

          "Wait a minute," she told the dog, sitting up in the old feather bed.  "Dad told me about this guy a long time ago… he was daddy's friend during the war…"

          Aen stood, evoking a soft whine from McCarthy.  "Shh," she told him.

          The animal's yellow-brown eyes followed as the seventeen-year-old tiptoed out of her room.  He stood, shook, stretched, and followed her down the hall, watching while Aen paused for a moment outside her father's bedroom, took a deep breath, and entered.

          The seven-drawer dresser stood against the wall, silent and smaller than she remembered it.  Opening the second drawer, she removed a large, shallow tin box and carried it to the neatly made bed, where she sat down and pulled the lid open.  Inside were all the "important papers" – the deed to the property and the house, his will, instructions about his equipment and research, and more that Aen's gaze skimmed over without seeing.  She was looking for something special.

          A yellowed envelope caught her attention.  Reaching out, she plucked it from the pile with trembling fingers and opened the flap.  Inside she found the old newspaper ad: 1965 Black Stingray for barter only.  555-1712.  Over that someone had written in blue ink: If you ever need my help, call.  Ray.

          She reached for the phone on the nightstand and dialed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ray put the finishing touches on his Mexican omelet and carried it to the table, humming along to the Spanish guitar music wrapping around the room.  A self-satisfied smile played across his lips just before the phone shattered the peaceful evening he had been promising himself for several weeks.

          He stared disgustedly at the instrument, hoping he had left the answering machine on, but the light was out.

          With a sigh he grabbed the handset.  "Hello?"

          "Are-Are you the man with the black Stingray?"

          Ray frowned.  "Yes, I am.  Are you all right?"

          "My father was James Campbell Laird.  He told me to call you if I needed help and he wasn't here."

          The girl started to cry, softly, like she was fighting to remain in control, but Ray was only vaguely aware of it, old memories cascading through his mind.  James Laird.

          "Who are you?"  he asked softly.

          "Aen, his daughter.  I— I need your help."  She paused, collecting herself before she would whisper, "My father's dead, and I want to know why."

          Ray sat down, the rapidly cooling eggs forgotten.  "Who was responsible?  Where are you?"  Leaning over, he flipped on the computer terminal sitting near the phone and typed in the command to take him into the airline schedules.

          "I'm in Alaska, the north-west tip of Klutina lake," she explained.  "Copper Center is the biggest town near here, but you'll have to fly in to Anchorage and get a bush pilot to fly you in.  I-I don't know who exactly is responsible.  That's what I need you to find out.  Will you help me?"

          "I'll be there tomorrow."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

### September 18, 1990

 

          Ray watched the dark blue of the small lake swell to fill the entire window he was gazing out of as the bush pilot banked into his final approach.  Given that a light breeze had already left the lake surface choppy, the landing was amazingly smooth.  Not that it would have mattered one way or another.  Since Aen's call, Ray had felt nothing but numb.  It had been less than twenty-four hours since the young woman had called, and he already had a substantial amount of information in hand.  James obviously wasn't trying to hide anything.

          His old friend had become something of a famous field biologist.  He was well liked and respected in the academic and Alaskan communities in which he lived and worked.  Nothing Ray found hinted of any problems the scientist might be having, nor could the people he called think of any enemies who might want to hurt the man.

          It was what Ray had expected.

          As for the girl herself, James's daughter was a gifted student who had won herself a full-ride scholarship to Stanford the year before, following in her father's footsteps right down to the perfect grade-point-average.  Her professors were expecting Aen to complete her bachelors' degree, bypass the masters, and go directly into doctorate work in two more years.  They described her as a bright girl not given to flights of fancy or emotional outbursts.

          Ray had spent the majority of the flight pumping the pilot, Matt Walters, for additional information, but again, nothing unexpected emerged.  Father and daughter were accomplished pilots, boatmen, and sledders.  With his daughter off at college, James spent the majority of his time out at his research station near Blue Wolf Bluff, where he was involved in a photographic project dealing with the endangered Alaskan timber wolves.  The site was relatively remote and hard to get to, so Walters air-dropped supplies in for the scientist.  Walters' last trip had been five days ago, which meant that James would be back at his place within two days or he would be without food and fuel.

          Easing the yellow Otter to a stop alongside Aen's Beaver, Matt climbed out and secured the plane while Ray grabbed his small duffel bag and exited.  On the dock, he was met by an older gentleman.  Native American of some sort, Ray was sure.

          "You Ray?" the older man asked, his voice reserved and flat.

          "Yes, I am."  Ray removed the ever-present dark glasses and extended his hand.  The old man shook it.

          "My son-in-law's mentioned you a time or two… usually when he'd had a little too much to drink and was feeling depressed."

          "I can bring that out in people," Ray said uncomfortably, wishing he had a better feel for what the man was getting at.

          "That's not what I heard in the stories he'd tell.  Look, I'm not sure why Aen called you.  I know her father told her she was supposed to, if anything happened and she needed help, but to tell you the truth, I think he'll be home today."

          "If that's the case, I'll consider this a vacation.  If not, I owe the girl whatever help I can give her.  Your son-in-law… was a friend."

          The old man nodded.  "Come on up to the house and I'll introduce you."

          "How'd you know I was coming?" Ray asked as he followed.  "Aen wasn't going to tell anyone."

          "One thing you'll learn about this part of the country, news travels fast – good or bad."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Charlie Sawbear and his wife sat on the back porch, the old woman smoking her pipe while her husband tossed small logs for McCarthy to chase and retrieve.  Ray watched the pair through one of the kitchen windows while his client poured two cups of coffee and carried them to the table.  She sat down across from him, waiting for him to initiate the conversation.

          The Sawbears were good people, and concerned about their granddaughter.  They'd had a hand in Aen's steady, good-natured disposition.  James must have been very proud of the girl, and given the way she was holding up, Ray was as well.

          He had spent the day getting acquainted with the young woman, the two of them walking along the lake shore.  It was beautiful country, and letting her tell him about the local history helped set her at ease.  Finally, they talked through the events that led to the three pools of dry, hard slime Charlie had showed him.  Ray had never seen anything like the substance, and he scraped samples into several small plastic petri dishes, in case he needed to get an analysis done.

          "He's not coming home tomorrow," Aen finally said, stirring in two spoonfuls of sugar while she watched her grandparents.  They were all the family she had left, and grandma was dying.

          "I think you're right."

          She looked back at the stranger.  Her father had told her Ray was special.  The best, he had said, and she hoped he was right.  One way or another, she wanted to know why her father was dead.  Why she'd had to kill him.

          "What're you going to do?  How're you going to find out why he— why he went crazy and melted like that?  It's not normal."

          "I hope not," Ray said, taking a sip of the coffee.  "But the fact that this is so strange might just help us track down the reasons.  You said your father did a lot of his work from here?"

          She nodded.

          "Did he have a computer?"

          "In the basement."

          "And a modem?"

          She nodded again.

          "Then we're in business."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

### September 19, 1990

 

          "Ray?"

          He started awake, realizing that he must have fallen asleep while waiting for the computer to finish scanning the news and crime data banks for the past year, looking for any other deaths with elements similar to Laird's.  With luck it might give him a clue.

          "Maybe you should go to bed," the young woman said.  "You look pretty wiped out."

          Ray checked the screen; the search was completed.  Twenty-seven matches had been found.  Reaching over, he typed in the command to print out the list, then turned to his young hostess.

          "Your father?"

          She shook her head.  "Nothing.  And no one's answering at Blue Wolf camp either.  But Matt Walters called.  He did a fly-by after he dropped you off.  He said the camp looked abandoned, but all Dad's equipment was still scattered around."

          "Abandoned?"

          "That's not like Dad.  He'd never go off and leave his equipment lying out like that.  It took him years to get the grant money to buy it."

          "I want to look the camp over.  Can you take me there?"

          She nodded.  "It'll be light in an hour.  We can leave then.  It's sort of isolated, but I know all the routes in.  Flying's the fastest, or we can go by boat."

          "I think we'd better fly.  I want to see the camp while it's as fresh as possible."

          "Okay.  You want some coffee or something?"

          "Sounds good.  When we get back, we'll start on these," Ray explained, holding up one end of the accumulating pile of computer paper, the descriptions on the first page giving him a chill.

          Aen nodded and walked back to the stairs.  "Ray?" she asked over her shoulder.

          "Yeah?"  He stood and stretched.

          "Thanks for letting me help.  I hate just waiting."

          "Me, too.  Besides, you know where we're going."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Thankful to be back on solid ground, Ray followed the young woman through some of the most spectacular wilderness he had seen.  The flight had taken about an hour and a half before Aen landed the Beaver in a wide and, thankfully, slow-moving river.  After securing the aircraft, they struck out on a hike that lasted another hour.  While he guessed that they were within seventy miles of the Laird home, the country was nearly impassable.

          McCarthy bounded ahead of the pair, chasing an occasional rabbit and reacquainting himself with the area.

          Ray wasn't sure what they would find when they reached the camp, but he hoped it was something to point him in a direction.  He glanced over at the young woman.  He had heard her wake up just after she had gone to bed the night before, screaming as she escaped the nightmares.  Even if they found a body it would be an improvement; the not knowing would be over.

          The Malamute's distant bark snapped him alert.  Now was not the time to get lost in thought about James, or the beauty of the place.

          "We close?" he asked.

          "Just up ahead," she said, the tone of her voice making it clear that she wasn't looking forward to what they might find either.

          The tall pines they had been moving through grew increasingly thicker as they reached the camp – primeval and untouched by the rough hand of man.

          Ray set about exploring the site.  The first thing he noticed was the campfire, which had burned itself out, unattended.  He couldn't imagine James leaving a fire like that; not in the forests he valued so highly.  Something must have prevented him from returning to the camp.  And then there was the equipment lying scattered across the ground.

          After Ray's walk-through Aen packed each piece into the appropriate containers as she broke the camp down with practiced ease.  Pausing to wipe the tears out of her eyes before they spilled over onto her cheeks, she forced herself to continue.

          "Nothing," Ray breathed, his hands resting on his hips.

          "Someone else had to have been here.  Dad _wouldn't_ treat this stuff like this."

          Ray looked at the girl.  "Given the trouble we just went through to get here, I don't think anyone just stumbled across him."

          A thin smile lifted the corners of her face.

          "Whoever they are, they were looking for something, but not very seriously." _This trip is complicating the picture_ , he thought silently.  "While you finish, I'm going to take a look around the perimeter."

          "Okay.  If you get lost, call for Mac, he'll bring you back here."

          Ray nodded and started off, the big Malamute loping past him and disappearing into the shadows.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          His gaze on the ground, it didn't take Ray long to find what he was looking for: signs of additional visitors.  It looked like three.  He followed the tracks into the woods, the light fading, but not so much that he couldn't make out the signs.

          About thirty yards into the trees, he found a blind.  There were signs of a scuffle, and just outside the rear entry another of the odd pools of hardened slime.  Most of it had soaked into the ground – _Or melted in_ , Ray thought as he took a sample.  There had been some heat involved, given the discolored condition of the moss ringing the pool.

          Three people had found, or were looking, for the blind, Ray concluded.  They located it.  There was a confrontation with James…  Ray picked up an expensive video-camera that had been hurled to the ground, and tried to open the tape drawer, only to find it jammed shut.

          What the hell was going on?

          He studied the landscape.  If three people left the area and ransacked the camp…  What the hell had happened to James?  There should be four sets of tracks. Three people had arrived at the house, James and two strangers, so somebody had disappeared.

          He pulled the tarp back to look into the blind, half-expecting to find a body there, but it was empty.  Ray's attention was drawn again to the spot on the ground…  _Melting people?  Something very strange is going on here_.

          McCarthy trotted up to stand beside the dark-haired man and Ray gave the dog a smile and a pat on the head.  "Well, what do you think, Mac?  Did that fourth man fly out of here?  Because that's the only thing that makes any sense at this point."

          The dog groaned softly, his muzzle dipping to sniff at the mysterious substance.  He growled and stepped back.

          "Easy," Ray said, curious about the reaction.  Aen had said it was the dog's barking that seemed to trigger her father's attack.  Had Mac smelled some of the substance on the man?  "Come on, boy, let's go home."

          With a last look around the site, Ray hefted the video camera, turned, and started for the main camp.  It was time to check the computer list and call in a favor.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ray sat in front of the living room fireplace, reading the list over for the tenth time.  Aen was already in bed, as was Mrs. Sawbear.  Charlie, however, sat across the fire from him, silently staring into the flames.  Ray had explained to the old man what he had found out at the research camp, hoping Sawbear could suggest a possible explanation for the absent fourth man.

          "Sounds like someone was swallowed up," was all Charlie said.

          Ray stood, rubbing the back of his neck, and the old man's gaze moved to rest on his face.

          "I think it's time for another session with the computer," Ray said.

          "You should get some sleep."

          Ray smiled thinly.  "I've never done what I'm supposed to."

          Charlie chuckled.  "I believe that.  I also believe that James's dead.  I saw the signs today.  I don't know how, or why, but he isn't coming home.  Aen was right."

          "What's going to happen to her?"

          "My wife's dying," Charlie said softly.  "She's got another few months, if we're lucky.  After that, it'll be just me and the girl.  She'll go back to college.  She ought to.  There's no reason to shut herself up here.  Too bright for that.  I'll watch out for her and the place until she's ready to come back for the right reasons."

          "I'm sorry," Ray said softly.  "For Aen, and your wife."

          The old man looked over at him, an ironic smile on his face.  "My people have been dying slow for a long time."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

### September 20, 1990

 

          Ray stared at the computer screen, waiting to see what his latest search would uncover.  The one clue he had been able to tease out of the scattered reports of "melted" or "exploding" bodies was a vague and inconsistent reference to terrorists and the United States Army.  After hours inside the most sophisticated, top secret computer he had access to there was still a cloak around any direct connection between the strange occurrences and the military.

          Someone was trying to hide something.

          "Come on, KARL," he encouraged the terminal.  KARL, a series of supercomputers networked into more databases than even Ray could imagine, belonged to a top secret government group who monitored the comings and goings of other, less long-lived organizations and individuals like the FBI, CIA, NSA and the President.

          There was a soft chime, and the screen repainted itself, the information beginning to glow in soft amber.

 

> Incidents with references to melting/exploding human bodies and the U.S. Army FOUND: Pentagon computer 1432-A.  Information has been transferred to secured file C47L03A10.

 

          "Now we're getting someplace," Ray mumbled aloud as he typed out the command for KARL to decode the identity of the recipient of those secured files.

 

> WARNING!  Level 10 security lock on file C47L03A10.

 

          "Well, bypass it, KARL," he said aloud, typing in that command.

 

> Unable to bypass.  Secondary Level 10 security screen activated.  Recipient will be notified of unauthorized computer inquiry.  File C47L03A10 termination screen, Pentagon computer 2364-7S: Brigadier General Henry J. Wilson, U.S. Army, Office of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

 

          "General Henry Wilson."  Ray smiled and shook his head.  "It _is_ a small world."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The telephone and the intercom rang at the same time, distracting Ironhorse from the last report he had left to sign.

          "I'm never going to get this damned paperwork finished," he mumbled to himself, grabbing the receiver and punching the line for the incoming call simultaneously.  He couldn't ignore his commanding officer's private line to their safe house.  "Ironhorse here, sir," he said crisply.

          "Colonel, we have a problem," came the reply from General Wilson on the other end.

          At the same time, Blackwood shoved the door to the colonel's office open and entered, proclaiming, "Colonel, we have a problem!"

          "Whoa, one at a time, people," Ironhorse said, trying to split his attention between the two, then hastily adding, "Sir."

          "I heard Dr. Blackwood," Wilson said.  "Why don't you put me on the box."

          "Yes, sir," the soldier said, pressing the speaker button and settling back in his chair.  "You're on, sir."

          "I wanted to inform you that the computer security system protecting the Blackwood Project was breached at my end just now."

          Ironhorse sat forward, his gaze locking with Harrison's.  "That's not good," the astrophysicist commented unnecessarily.

          "No, Doctor, it's not," the general replied.

          "Were you able to trace the break-in back?" the colonel asked.

          "No.  My people lost whoever it was somewhere in the computers.  And whoever it was, they know some very top secret passwords.  I'm recommending that you prepare to evacuate the Cottage.  Put the Omega Squad on full alert and I'll have additional Delta Force personnel sent over from Ft. Streeter to monitor the property."

          "Sir, if we don't know who was responsible, shouldn't we be leaving now?" the colonel asked, leaning forward.

          "No files were accessed, Colonel.  The only piece of information retrieved was the military point of contact, namely, myself.  I've increased security here, but if this is the aliens, I want you ready to move to a location I know nothing about."

          "We'll begin preparations, sir," Ironhorse told him.  "What was your emergency, Doctor?"

          "Transmissions.  Norton's picked up a flurry of transmissions in Alaska."

          "Alaska?" Wilson said.  "I don't think I should hear any more of this until we have this situation contained.  I don't like the timing…"  He trailed off, and the pair waited for the officer's decision.  "Colonel, consider this a level three emergency and take the necessary steps."

          "Yes, sir," the officer said, terminating the phone call.

          "A 'level three emergency'?" Blackwood asked.

          "We assume all outside contacts are a possible threat until we hear the proper code for an all clear.  Now, Doctor, I suggest you get packed.  I'll inform Suzanne and Norton."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

### September 22, 1990

 

          General Wilson sat at his desk, watching the two security guards standing in the reception area, their weapons ready in case of trouble.  It had been twenty-four hours since the security breach and nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.  Either the aliens weren't responsible, or they were waiting for some purpose of their own.  He sighed.  At least his niece, her daughter and the rest of the Blackwood Project members were evacuated from the Cottage.  Government Property #348 was once again empty – for the time being – except of course for the squad of Special Forces personnel who were observing the property for any possible break-in attempts.

          However, not knowing where the Project members were bothered him more than he wanted to admit.  While it was true a great deal of his anxiety was over Suzanne and Debi, Harrison Blackwood and Norton Drake had also wormed their way into his affections.  And Colonel Ironhorse was a fine officer, and a personal friend.

          But he couldn't dwell on what might happen.  Ever since he had carried the President's personal request to Blackwood, asking him to head up the top secret team of alien fighters, Wilson had known it could end poorly.  But their world was at stake, so they fought.  If he just knew who the hell had accessed the files…

          "General?"

          Wilson jumped slightly, shook his head to clear it and stared up at his administrative assistant.  "Yes, Gloria, what is it?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "There's a man here to see you, but he isn't on the docket for this morning."

          "Who is it?" the general asked, his hand falling automatically to the half-opened drawer where his revolver sat with its safety off.

          "He told me to tell you he's the man with the Black Stingray for barter only?" the petite brunette repeated, the confusion in her voice clear.  Wilson's face paled slightly.  "Sir, are you all right?  Should I have the MP's escort him out?"

          "No!" he snapped, too harshly, and apologized.  "Send him in," he concluded.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ray entered the Spartan office, closing the door behind him.  General Henry J. Wilson sat at his desk, his granite face set in a grim countenance.  The officer was also holding a Geiger counter pointed at him.

          "General."  Ray nodded.  "Will I glow in the dark?"

          Wilson allowed himself a sigh of relief.  The needle remained stationary.  "No, Ray, you have nothing to worry about – if you can pass one more test."

          "Test?"

          "I'd explain if I could, but I'm afraid I can't, and it's that important."

          Ray considered the man's words, noting the tension that balled the muscles along the top of his shoulders, and the fine film of sweat across Wilson's forehead.  There was definitely something up.

          "All right," he said, "what do you need?"

          "A blood sample."

          "Blood?"

          Wilson picked up the phone.  "Gloria, have Dr. Gilbert come in, please."

          Ray waited.  The door opened to admit an older gentleman in a white lab coat.  At six feet, the physician looked more like a retired surfer than a medical doctor, but Ray had learned long ago not to trust to appearances.  It was a good thing, too.

          The physician smiled at Ray, his blue eyes twinkling below a full head of curly gray-brown hair.  Dr. Gilbert radiated good-natured fun.  _So why is he working at the Pentagon?_ Ray wondered.  _He still has a sense of humor_.

          "I'll need a finger," Gilbert said, removing a small piece of plastic with a needle tip in one end and a glass slide.  "And nothing obscene."

          Ray stuck out the index finger of his left hand.  "Aren't you going to tell me this won't hurt a bit?" he queried.

          "Why should I lie to you?" Gilbert asked, jabbing the fleshy tip and squeezing out three drops of red onto the slide.  "I'll call with the results."

          With a nod to two men, Gilbert left, Ray noticing that there were two additional MP's waiting outside to escort him.  Whatever it was, they were playing security very, very tight.

          "Have a seat, Ray," Wilson said with a wave of his hand.

          "I'll stand, General.  I've come for the favor."

          The officer's eyebrows rose.  "I see."

          "I'd like you to have dinner with me, and I'll explain the details."

          "You came in person to ask me to have dinner with you?"

          "I tried the phone, but your secretary said you weren't accepting any calls."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ray set the two plates of veal down on the well stocked table.  Walking into the small living room, he flipped on a scrambler that would disrupt any electronic-ear devices that someone might try using on them.  He knew there was at least a squad of highly trained commandos guarding the perimeter of the comfortable Virginia condo and couldn't help wondering what the general had found to occupy his time since the last time Ray had seen him.

          Wilson sat on the couch, watching the evening news.

          When Ray had their dinner ready he joined the older man, leaning in the door frame.  "Well, we can either talk in here and let a perfectly good dinner go to waste, or we can talk over veal."

          Wilson smiled and stood.  "You want a big favor, don't you," he asked.

          "Yes."

          The seriousness in Ray's voice forced the smile away.  "I agreed when you helped me that I'd do this," Wilson said, sitting down at the table and admiring the aroma drifting off his waiting plate.  "What _do_ you want, Ray?"

          "I want to know why there are human bodies melting when they're killed."

          Wilson's appetite fled.  "I…  I—"

          "I want to know what you're protecting behind the file sealed with code forty-seven, level three, authorization ten."

          "Ray, that's top secret, Presidential authority only."

          "You owe me the favor."

          "I know that, but you're asking for something I _can't_ give you."  He stopped abruptly, the pieces falling into place.  "Did _you_ access the Pentagon computers looking for this information?"

          "Why?"

          Wilson's body lost the nervous tension Ray had seen earlier.  "If you did, then I can stop worrying about a disaster that isn't going to happen – right now, anyway."

          "General, I want to know what's going on.  What're you hiding?"

          "Tell me how you found out about that file."

          "Sorry, you know how I operate.  I do someone a favor, they owe me a favor.  Are you going to renege?"

          Wilson's forehead wrinkled.  "Just tell me this much, does what you're involved in have anything to do with Alaska?"

          It was Ray's turn to look startled.  "Yes.  Why?"

          "If you're willing to talk to me, I'll give you what you're asking for, but, Ray, it's bigger than you can imagine.  It isn't just national security at stake here, it's the security of the whole damned world."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Six hours later, Ray felt as if his entire universe had been stuffed down the rabbit hole.  Aliens.  Beings from a planet called Mor'tax, located somewhere in the constellation of Taurus, were on Earth, and they were trying to take over.  In less than four years, more than four million more would arrive as colonists.

          The creatures presently waging war against the human population were the revived survivors of the invasion of 1953.  He didn't remember an alien invasion in 1953, but, according to Wilson, very few people did.  And, while Ray was familiar with the theories behind mass hysteria and selective amnesia – and the fact that he was only a very small boy in 1953 – surely someone he had known would have remembered and talked if it had really happened.

          But Wilson was serious.  Deadly serious.

          He explained that there was a team, a civilian unit made up of two scientists and a computer expert, working with a military detachment, fighting the aliens.  They had been battling the invaders for seventeen months.  Additional scientists in the U.S. and other countries were also beginning to work on finding a way to destroy the Mor'taxans before it was too late.

          And, Wilson said, these creatures took over human bodies.

          It was too much, way too much.

          But, if what everything Wilson had said were true?  Then Aen's father had been taken over by one of the Mor'taxans, which would account for the pool of slime at the blind.  It would also explain the remains of the human host the alien deserted when it blended with James.  It did explain the missing fourth person.

          When the blended humans arrived at the house, Mac had sensed the difference and reacted.  And, if they had the total lack of regard for human life, any human life, as Wilson insisted, that would explain James trying to kill his own daughter.

          It all made sense.  Scary sense.

          But why were the aliens in Alaska in the first place?  And what did they want with James Laird?

          "Ray?" Wilson prompted, watching the man try to digest the unpalatable data.

          "Hmm?"

          "I've told you everything I can for now, more than I should have.  I think it's time you explained your interest in the aliens to my team."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

### September 23, 1990

 

          Ray watched as Lieutenant Colonel Ironhorse squinted behind his mirrored sunglasses, no doubt trying to determine why he looked so familiar.  General Wilson walked next to Ray, his confidence revived.

          The decision for a face to face meeting had taken the Blackwood Project members by surprise, if the conversation Ray had heard on Wilson's end of the line was any indication.  Add in the natural paranoia that was bound to develop in the situation, and it was no wonder the officer appeared on edge.

          _I wonder how long it'll take him to remember_? Ray pondered.

          The elite Omega Squad Wilson had told him about provided the security until the general and Ray passed all the necessary screens to prove they were still human.  Once that fact was established, they were escorted out to an Arizona room in the Blackwood Project's latest safe house nestled in the foothills of California's San Fernando Valley.

          "General," Ironhorse said, snapping up a sharp salute.  The older man returned it with considerably less vigor.  "Glad to hear this turned into a practice run, sir," the colonel continued, studying Ray, who did nothing to aid the soldier with an identification.

          About the same height, Ray knew his own slightly ethnic, but not readily identifiable features would throw the officer for a moment.  The air of calm self-assuredness he remembered still clung to Ironhorse.  Reaching up, Ray removed his sunglasses, watching Ironhorse's eyebrows climb in surprise.  They traded small, fleeting smiles.

          The general watched the exchange.  He had worried that Ray and the colonel might reach an impasse, given their personalities, but there was something going on here he didn't quite understand.

          It was Ironhorse who spoke first, a soft chuckle blazing the way.  "It has been a while, Spook."

          Ray dipped his head in amused recognition of the tag he had acquired while on assignment with a young gung-ho Green Beret captain by the name of Ironhorse.  The Cherokee officer was one of the few military brass Ray had met that he both respected and liked.

          "Blade, wasn't it?" he replied, his tone making it clear that he remembered the nickname, and the reason for it.

          "You two know each other?" Wilson asked, his tone incredulous.

          "Yes, sir," Ironhorse supplied, but he did not elaborate.  Those missions were still classified and strictly need to know.

          "I see, well, that should make this easier.  Where's Dr. Blackwood?"

          "The others will be joining us as soon as the computer's finished running the information we have on the Alaskan transmissions, sir.  Now, if you'll follow me, there's coffee and some of Mrs. P's danishes inside."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison finished his Aliens 101 lecture while Ray leaned back in his chair, trying to assimilate the information with what he had been told by Wilson earlier.  Blackwood struck him as a slightly off-center but brilliant man.  These people weren't kidding about their belief in outer space creatures, or the threat they posed to humankind.  That Ironhorse was also involved convinced him more than anything he had heard.  The captain, now colonel, was one of the best military men Ray had ever known.  Ironhorse wouldn't be leading this war if it wasn't real, and as deadly as they said.

          Taking a sip of coffee and a deep breath, Ray launched into a description of the events leading to James Laird's death as he understood them.  When he finished, Harrison Blackwood leaned forward in his chair, a look of determination on his face.

          "I think it's time we took a trip," he concluded.

          "I've never been to Alaska," Norton Drake said, the large smile on his face not completely hiding the concern in his eyes.

          "I'm afraid you won't be coming along, Mr. Drake," Ironhorse cut in.

          "Colonel, I might be stuck in a wheelchair, but I'm—"

          "It has _nothing_ to do with that," the soldier interrupted, a pained edge to his voice.  "We need to move back to the Cottage, and I need someone there in charge of that operation."

          "I'd feel better if someone was there with Debi, too," Suzanne added.

          "So I've been promoted to interior decorator and baby-sitter?" the black man asked, only half-joking.  "What about monitoring for transmissions and—"

          "I realize there might be a lag-time in notification," Ironhorse said.  "But I do need you back at the Cottage, just in case things go wrong.  The computers have to be put back on line, security tests run, surveillance photos gone over…"

          Drake looked at the soldier.  He was sincere.  "All right, but you're going to owe me a vacation.  I've always wanted to see the northern lights."

          "You've got it," Blackwood said, reaching out to slap the man lightly on the shoulder.  He looked back at Ray.  "Welcome to the Blackwood Project.  Now, what do we call you?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The flight to Eielson Air Force Base was quiet.  General Wilson left with his security team to return to Washington and Norton, along with most of the Omega squad headed back to their safe house, the location of which, Ray noticed, remained hidden from him.  He and the rest of the Project members, along with six soldiers, hopped a flight on an Air Force transport plane out of March Air Force Base, riding not-so-comfortably in the back with several crates of equipment.

          The Presidential priority the colonel had used made travel easier, but as Ironhorse explained, he wished that the civilian members of the Project wouldn't treat it quite so lightly.  It seemed that the Blackwood Project had the blessings of the highest members of government, and Ray wondered if the Vigil knew of the team's existence and its mission.

          Once they were settled in to the webbing along the sides of the plane, the colonel turned his attention to studying the maps of Alaska Norton had supplied.  Blackwood slept for about an hour, then rose and joined the soldier.

          That left Ray with Dr. Suzanne McCullough, an attractive woman in her mid-thirties.  He was able to prompt her into explaining more about the alien's ability to blend with human hosts.  The information was nothing less than frightening.  Watching her run a hand through her light brown hair, Ray realized that he respected this woman – more than most people he met.  Despite the dangers, she was an important part of the war against the Mor'taxans.  She was also a mother.  They were a peculiar group, this Blackwood Project.

          Ray reached out and squeezed her shoulder and Suzanne smiled.  "You're quite a lady," he said.

          McCullough laughed nervously.  "Thank you, but to tell you the truth, I'm too afraid to do anything else.  There are times I wish I'd never heard about any of this, but it's too late now.  I just want to make sure my daughter doesn't have to continue this war."

          Ray nodded, knowing he was going to feel the same way.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The colonel covertly watched Ray and Suzanne as they engaged in quiet conversation.  Spook was one man he had never expected to see again.  Ray had been some kind of government operative during the war, Ironhorse and his unit providing the man with access in and out of various locations – both legal and illegal – for several months.  What Spook did while he was away from the unit was anybody's guess, although Ironhorse had several he thought plausible.

          Glancing over at Blackwood, Paul found that Harrison had turned his attention to the transmissions data Drake had handed them before they took off.  They still had no idea why the aliens were in Alaska, why they had targeted a man who took pictures of wolves, or why they had tried to kill his daughter.  Whatever the reasons, the soldier was certain he wouldn't like it when they found them.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 

 

### September 24, 1990

 

          At the Laird home, Ray walked forward to thank the man who had stayed with Aen and her grandparents while he was back in the States.  The tall black man smiled – a cross between a jovial grimace and a feral snarl.

          "You found the help you'll need?"

          "I think so, Hawk.  I appreciate your help."

          "A favor for a favor, you said.  It was an interesting diversion, but I hear the call of a wild goose."

          "Boston?"

          "For now," the man said, slipping a hat over his bald head and pulling on the long leather and fur coat.  "That leaves you two, m'man.  Don't spend them in one place."

          "I'll try not to," Ray said with the hint of a grin.

          Aen watched the good-bye.  She was going to miss the tall black man.  He was as full of stories about African folklore as her grandfather was with tales about the Indians.

          "I will come visit you one of these days," she told him with a smile.

          Hawk nodded.  "Indeed you shall, Miss Aen Laird."  With a final sweeping glance over the Blackwood Project members, Hawk shook hands with Charlie Sawbear, hugged Mrs. Sawbear and Aen and made a quick exit, his coat flapping out behind him like a prince's robes.

          Ray watched him go with a shake of his head.  "I hope Spencer didn't miss him too much."

          "Wow," Suzanne said, her gaze drifting from Hawk's retreating back to Blackwood.

          "Yeah," the astrophysicist replied, equally impressed.  "Now that's charisma."

          Ironhorse nodded.

          Ray chuckled and stepped forward to make the introductions, while Mrs. Sawbear herded the group into the small dining room for the evening meal.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          After dinner Ray, the three scientists, and Aen crowded into her father's basement workroom and waited while Harrison and Norton established a connection with them using the University of Alaska and Eielson AFB mainframes as a switch-back node that they hoped would give them a little added security.  Attaching the equipment they'd brought to Laird's PC, Blackwood depressed a button, asking,  "You there, Norton?"

          "I'm here all right.  Tell Suzanne Debi says hi, and to bring her back something Alaskan.  Bring me something while you're at it, too.  It's the least you can do for those of us left in the cloisters."

          "Tell her I'll think about it," the microbiologist replied.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ray raised an eyebrow, but remained silent.  He wasn't sure he liked the idea of a child being involved in any part of a covert war against aliens, but they all seemed to have adjusted to it.

          "I'm afraid I have some bad news," Norton said.

          "What's wrong, Mr. Drake?" Ironhorse asked, immediately alert.

          "There were a couple other disappearances among the faculty from the University.  A Dr. Herbert Melrose, specialist in Alaskan geology, and Dr. Patriece Coldwater, specialist in Alaskan cultural anthropology.  Mean anything?"

          Ray shrugged, and Blackwood looked at Aen.

          "I've heard Dad talk about them, they were colleagues, but I don't know them or what they're working on."

          "I'm afraid not.  Have there been any more transmissions?" Blackwood queried.

          "Not since the last batch.  Oh, one common thread I managed to find.  The two missing Ph.D's, James Laird, Mr. and Mrs. Sawbear, and Aen Laird are all members of the Native Alaskan Cultural Preservation Association.  Don't know if it's important, but it's the only common denominator I've turned up so far."

          "Keep at it, Norton.  We'll see what we can find here," Blackwood told him.

          "Right, and be careful, huh?  Watch out for… polar bears."

          "We'll try," Blackwood said, ending the call, but leaving the computer link open.

          "What now?" Ray asked.

          "Tomorrow we look at the camp locations you told us about, and we wait for them to make their next move," Blackwood said.  His attention refocused on the young woman.  "Aen, what does the Preservation Society do?"

          While she continued to work on setting up the last video her father had made, Aen shrugged and explained, "It's designed to preserve the culture of the native groups in the state.  They lobby for legislation protecting sacred lands and insure hunting and fishing rights, that sort of thing.  They also work to retrieve and restore ceremonial items.  And there's a recruitment program for teachers.  The Society even offers a few scholarships for students to go to college, if they agree to come back here to teach.  Why would terrorists be interested in that?"

          "You don't think one of their warsh– weapons, might be up here, do you?" Suzanne asked suddenly, her face going slightly pale.

          "Weapons?" Ray asked, realizing that Suzanne was about to say something else.  He would have to ask one of them about it later, when Aen was absent.  Although he understood why they had told her their standard cover story – that the Blackwood Project was a government team fighting against a small but dangerous group of terrorists – he wasn't sure it was the right choice.  Aen deserved the truth.

          Blackwood briefly explained that the "terrorists" had several specialized weapons, and that they had cashed them in out of the way places in the past, including an Indian reservation in Oregon several months earlier.  The Project had been lucky that time.  The tribal shaman, Joseph Lonetree, had somehow managed to defeat the "terrorists" by calling down his "spirits", but Harrison had little faith they could manage the same feat themselves.

          "To put it bluntly, people, we have no idea what the hell they're up to," Ironhorse concluded.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "We'd better find out, and soon," Ray added.  "If everything you've told me is true, the longer we wait the worse the scenario's going to get."

          "If they're still in the area," Blackwood said.  "If they've already gotten what they wanted, we might not ever find out what happened or why."

          "It's ready," Aen announced.  Walking over to the light switch, she flipped it off and pressed the play button on the remote control.  "Hawk finally got the tape tray open this afternoon just before you got here.  I had to rewind the tape by hand.  I hope it plays."

          The VCR clicked on and the screen was filled with several wolves gathered in a clearing, her father's voice narrating softly.  "I've never seen anything like this," whispered James Laird.  "The pack is highly agitated.  It's as if their territory has been invaded by another, stronger pack, but I'm sure this is not the case.  I'm going to skirt around the edge – I don't dare go through it with them as agitated as they are – and see what I can find."

          The picture jumped, indicating that Dr. Laird had turned off the videocam for a while as he maneuvered through the woods.  When it came back on, he was trying to focus in on something moving around in a small U-shaped valley several hundred yards below.  "I— I can't believe this.  I can't get a good focus, they're too far away, but-but I think I'm looking at something not of this world.  There are about thirty of the creatures—"  The camera jumped and the focus cleared slightly, the five viewers all gasping as the unblended Mor'taxans became clearer.

          "What're they doing?" Suzanne asked, her voice soft.

          "God, I wish I knew," Blackwood replied, a thinly veiled anguish cracking his voice.

          "Aen, do you know where that is?" Ray asked, turning to look at the young woman.

          She nodded, leaning back against the wall, her face gone pale.

          James Laird's voice continued.  "They're moving around in what seems to be a random pattern, but it's tightening up now… yes, it looks like they are breaking off into sets of three…  I see eleven groups now…  I can't tell what they're doing… the wolves are getting more restless.  I'm going to head back to the blind.  I want to get my camera and the telephoto lens.  Aen, I wish you were here to see this, it's amazing!  Wait, I see some more movement—"

          The camera swung to the open hilltop not far away.  A man and a woman stood there, he with binoculars, watching James.

          "My God, it's Dr. Melrose and Dr. Coldwater, what're they doing out here?"

          The woman smiled and waved.

          "Ah, they've seen me too."

          The camera swung back to the aliens, who were all standing in close groups of three, their shoulders touching.  A soft trill drifted up and was captured by the camera's microphone.

          "The wolves are getting closer.  I really have to get back to the blind… this is amazing.  To think that we might have at last made contact with another intelligent life form…  Think of what we could learn."

          The camera jumped, and when it came back on, the scientist's face nearly filled the screen.  "This is James Campbell Laird.  I'm back at the blind.  I have my camera and I'm going back to the location to get more pictures of the possible alien beings.  It is September seventeenth, 1990 at…"  He looked down at his watch.  "…ten-thirty in the morning."

          The five watched as James's head snapped up.  "Herbert?  Patriece?  What're you doing here?" he asked.  "Who—?"

          A hand reached in, grabbing the scientist's jacket at the shoulder and jerked him up.  "Nothing that concerns you, human."

          The hand yanked the man out of the blind.  On the audio James's death screams echoed for a short while before going silent.

          "Herbert Melrose" looked into the blind, his angry expression filling the screen.  Spotting the videocamera, the blended alien cursed in his native language. He grabbed the machine, hurling it to the ground.  The picture jumped to static.

          Aen sobbed.

          Suzanne stood and walked over to put a comforting arm around the girl's shoulder.  She hugged the microbiologist, silent tears soaking into the shoulder of the woman's sweater.

          "Aliens?" she asked.  "There are aliens here?  They killed my dad?"

          Suzanne looked to Blackwood and the colonel.  Both men nodded.

          "Come on, Aen." Suzanne said softly.  "Let's go upstairs for a while and I'll explain."

          The girl stepped back.  "You mean there _are_ aliens?"

          "I'm afraid so," Blackwood said.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

### September 25, 1990

 

          Harrison, Suzanne and Ironhorse prowled over the same area that Ray had examined earlier.  The camp offered no further clues, and with four Omegans as an escort, they made their way to the blind where James Campbell had really died.  Aen stared at the pool of slime that was nearly gone.  Whoever that was, the alien who had killed him had also killed her father.

          "Where was your father filming from?" Ray asked.

          She shook her head and wiped away the moisture that had started to collect in her eyes.  "Over this way," she explained, leading the way.

          Several minutes later, they were on the same rise looking down into an empty valley.

          "Ray, you and Aen stay here, we need to get down there and have a look around," Ironhorse said.

          "No," Aen objected before Ray could.  "I have a right to know what happened to my father.  I'm going down there, too."

          The colonel swallowed his objections and nodded.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "What do you make of this?" Blackwood asked, kneeling to poke at one of a multitude of small, hard droppings of green-brown slime.

          "I have no idea, and I'm not sure I want to," was Suzanne's reply.  "But I think we'd better take samples that I can look at in the lab."

          Blackwood nodded, and together they filled several sample dishes with the artifacts.  Ray and Ironhorse continued to sweep the area for any signs of how the aliens had arrived at the site, finally locating footprints that led off into the woods.  Sending Aen back to stay with Suzanne and Harrison, the pair disappeared into the trees.

          It didn't take long to find where a plane had landed in the river and had been secured by lines to a large boulder.

          "So we have an alien pilot, too," Ray concluded.

          "In all likelihood," Ironhorse agreed.  "Hard to tell how many of them there might have been in host bodies.  Let's get back to the others."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Completing the final steps to the house, Ray felt the muscles across the tops of his shoulders tingle.  Glancing over at Ironhorse, he saw the same uneasiness.  Something was wrong.  He slowed.  Matt Walters' plane was tied to the floating dock, but no one exited the house to greet them, and the two Omegans left behind were nowhere to be seen.  Ray heard Ironhorse remove his sidearm.

          They would be easy targets as they completed the final steps to the backyard.  Too easy.  Where the hell were those soldiers?

          "Stravakos," the colonel said, motioning the sergeant to join him.

          Ray waved to the others to flatten themselves against the rain-cracked wooden boards.

          "What is it?" Blackwood whispered to the two men in the front as the sergeant passed him.

          "Trouble," Ironhorse replied.  "Franklin and Yarrow didn't report."

          The astrophysicist's blue eyes closed for the briefest moment.  "Damn."  They were lost.

          "What about Charlie and—"

          Ray silenced Aen with a sharp slicing motion of his hand.  Someone was moving up on them.  He motioned to the yard above.

          Ironhorse nodded, inching closer.  "The sergeant and I will distract them and lay down cover fire.  You get them to the house or the shed."

          Ray nodded.  It was risky,  but they didn't have any options.  If they tried to get back down the stairs they would still be in the open.

          The colonel and the Omegan eased past Ray, Ironhorse rising up just far enough for a quick look over the top of the last step.  Nothing.  He looked again.  There had to be something there.

          In the window.

          The soldier checked his weapon automatically.  "Someone has a rifle trained on the top of the stairs from the second floor."

          "Walters?" Ray asked.

          "My guess," Ironhorse replied.  "Or one of my men."

          "This hillside looks pretty solid.  Can you edge over and come up away from the steps?"

          The soldier checked the rather rocky slope that ran down to the lake shore.  It would be difficult, but they didn't have a choice.  He nodded for Stravakos to go left.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ray heard the first explosion from the rifle as Ironhorse and the sergeant scrambled over the top of the hill about ten yards away from the steps in both directions.  The colonel's Beretta sounded, then the Omegan's Uzi.

          "Come on," he called back to the others.

          Blackwood led the way, joining Ray at the top.  Suzanne gave Aen's shoulder a brief squeeze, before prompting her to follow Ray.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The events that unfolded around Ray were more dreamlike than he anticipated.  Ironhorse shot one of the two Omegans left behind, and the ex-operative watched the man melt even as he was helping Aen and Suzanne to the cover of the small storage shed.  He looked frantically around for Blackwood.  Nothing.  Where the hell was the man?

          Removing the Beretta he had taken to carrying, Ray pressed it into Suzanne's hands, and headed out to locate the wayward astrophysicist before Blackwood could get himself killed.

          Exiting the shed, he found Stravakos locked in a hand to hand fight with the pilot.  A three-digited grip from the alien's third arm protruding from the front of Matt Walters' chest, locked on the sergeant's face.  Without hesitation, Ray shot the man/alien.

          Stravakos, staggering back, lifted thankful eyes and nodded before heading off toward the sounds of shooting on the other side of the house.

          _Damn_ , Ray thought.  _How many of these people are aliens?  Anna and Charlie?_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Sidestepping to avoid the pool of foaming slime that was the second Omegan, Ray rounded the other side of the house as the firing stopped.  Ironhorse, with Blackwood standing just behind him, and the four soldiers, had managed to surround three men Ray didn't recognize.  They looked like locals.

          "What do you want here?" Blackwood asked the three, his voice half-imploring, half-condemnation.

          The three remained silent.  Then, in unison, they raised their right hands, pressing them against their chests.

          "Watch out!" Ironhorse yelled as the three bodies exploded.  The soldiers standing behind the three aliens just managed to cover their faces in time.

          The sounds of someone else approaching caused Ironhorse and Ray to whirl around, weapons ready.  Suzanne and Aen stopped, and the microbiologist smiled nervously.  "Just us," she said.

          "What about grandma and grandpa?  Did you see Mac?"

          "We don't know, Aen," Ray said softly, watching the girl's green eyes study the remains of the aliens strewn across the yard.

          "We have to find them," she said firmly.  " _Now_."

          Ironhorse stepped past the young woman and Suzanne, commanding, "Stein, secure the perimeter.  Stravakos, stay with doctors McCullough and Blackwood."

          Harrison started to object, but the expression on Aen's face stopped him.

          "Ray, come with me," Ironhorse added.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          They entered the house, silent, finding nothing on the main floor.  That left upstairs or the basement.  Ray nodded to the door leading down to the workroom.  The colonel nodded.

          Gripping the knob, Ray pushed the door inward, Ironhorse entering first, his Uzi held steady, leading the way.  The glow from the computer terminal was the only dim light source, and the soldier concentrated on descending the wooden stairs as quietly as possible.  Ray followed, his own senses working overtime.

          Reaching the bottom, the pair froze, twin sounds reaching them:  a shotgun cocking and a low growl from Mac.

          Charlie Sawbear stood up from where he had been hiding in the shadows.  Lying next to him on the ground was his wife.

          "Charlie, it's us," Ray said.

          The old man looked from the two men to the dog.

          "Hey, Mac, tell Charlie we're okay," Ray told the dog.

          The Malamute wagged his tail, but watched the colonel's Uzi cautiously.

          "You want to lower that thing for a second?" Ray suggested.  "You're scaring the dog."

          Ironhorse complied.

          "Mac, come here, boy.  Good dog," Ray said as the dog shoved his nose into the palm of his hand.

          Charlie nodded and lowered the gun.  "Aen?"

          "She's fine," Ray said.  "Anna?"

          Charlie shook his head.  "Matt Walters, he— he did something to her…  He wanted to know where you'd all gone."  He glanced down at the still form of his wife.  "She told him, and when you'd be back.  I don't know how the hell he did that."

          Ironhorse knelt down beside the old woman, finding the hole the alien had made into her skull near her temple.

          "McCarthy lunged for Matt and I got the shotgun.  He and the two dock workers backed off.  I heard noise outside, then the shooting.  I wasn't sure what the hell was going on, I brought Anna and the dog down here.  Figured I could take a few of them with me if they came looking for us."

          Ray nodded, extending a hand to rest it on the old man's shoulder.  "I'm sorry," he said softly.

          "These are terrorists?"

          "Yes, sir, but, we'll explain more later, I—"  Ironhorse stopped short as gunfire picked up again outside.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ray paused at the back door to the house, trying to see what was happening. The colonel took a position along the other side of the frame.

          "Anything?"

          "Not a thing."

          "Damn," Paul breathed.  "Look, stay with me.  I don't want us getting separated.  These things…"  He trailed off.  It was clear Ray understood.

          Charlie stepped up behind them, holding McCarthy's collar.  They eased outside, reaching the back porch as Harrison and Suzanne rounded the corner of the house, Stravakos behind them.

          "Blackwood, what's going on?" the colonel asked, concern clear in his voice.

          "Looks like they have reinforcements, sir," the sergeant offered.  "Six, maybe more."

          "Great."  Ironhorse squeezed Suzanne's shoulder.  "You and Harrison stay here with Mr. Sawbear and the dog, Mac'll know if there are aliens around.  Sergeant, you stay too.  Back to the basement."  He looked around.  "Where's the girl?"

          "She slipped away from me," Suzanne said.  "I don't know where she is."

          "We're wasting time," Ray said, tapping Ironhorse on the shoulder.  "Let's go, Blade."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The remaining three Omegans joined them, reporting that four of the new aliens had been neutralized.  Ironhorse nodded, leading as they circled around the house.

          The reinforcements must have been down with Walters' plane, Ray reasoned. They had heard the firefight and made it up the stairs at the front of the house unnoticed.  At least there were only two left – hopefully – and Aen.  Suzanne had said the Mor'taxans needed a certain mass in order to blend with a human host, but the young woman was full grown.

          "It's going to put us in the open, but I don't see a way around it," Ironhorse whispered.  "Stein, you three check the front of the house.  We'll circle the other way, check the storage shed and meet you at the rear."

          "Yes, sir," the man said, heading off with the other two Omegans following.

          "Remind you of the old days?" Ray asked.

          "I hope you haven't lost your touch."

          "We'll find out."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ray and Ironhorse eased into the dimly lit shed, dust floating up around their feet.  It was still, just like the jungle just before an attack.  Ray sensed the movement before he recognized it.

          Two locals, now aliens, rose from their hiding places.  Immediately Ray's mind calculated the situation.  Ironhorse, slightly in front, would be vulnerable.  He was about to yell a warning when a new movement flashed along the edge of his vision.

          Aen emerged from under an old tarp, flinging herself at the colonel, who was already lining up one of the aliens in his sights.  Ray watched as the soldier's weapon started to swing toward the new, closer movement.

          "No!" Ray barked, his own weapon coming up, firing.  The alien aiming at the colonel fell, its aim on the soldier destroyed, but the slug went wild, burning along the upper part of Ray's arm.

          A second invader fell, Ironhorse's corrected aim on target, but the alien managed to get off a final shot at the exposed soldier.  Aen, her momentum still carrying her forward to push the officer out of the way, passed in front of Ironhorse.  The girl cried out as she collided with the colonel, the two of them falling to the dirt floor in a heap.

          "Aen?  Blade?" Ray asked, immediately moving to disentangle the pair.

          "Ahh," Ironhorse groaned.  "She's been hit.  I think she fainted."

          Gathering the girl up, Ray carried her outside, the other members of the Project and the Omegans joining them.  Blackwood and Suzanne conducted scans with two hand-held Geiger counters.

          "Shoulder wound, sir," Goodson, the Omegan medic announced.  "We need to get her to a hospital ASAP."

          "Still fly anything with wings?" Ray asked.

          "We'll soon see, won't we," the colonel replied.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Good thing you could fly an aquatic plane," Aen told the colonel.  "They're not like most planes."

          Lying in her hospital bed the seventeen-year-old looked every one of her years.  The doctors were optimistic that with a little help from a specialist, Aen should regain full mobility in her shoulder.

          There was nothing Ray could do for the girl's family, but he could make sure she got all the medical and professional help possible to deal with what happened, and a large chunk of that help was standing in the room with him.

          "It's been a while, but there wasn't much choice, now was there, young lady. I appreciate the effort, but next time, just yell," Ironhorse scolded her kindly.

          She grinned.  "I'll remember that, believe me."  Looking at Ray, her expression turned serious.  "I guess I owe you a favor now, huh?"

          Ray shook his head.  "No, I was repaying one I owed your father."

          "Ray," Aen said seriously, "my father's dead.  I asked for your help, not my dad.  I owe you, just like everyone else.  Okay?"

          He considered her statement and the stony determination in her green eyes. "You owe me _one_ favor, Aen Sutton Laird.  One day I'll be by to collect it, and no matter what it is, you must do it.  That's the deal.  Agreed?"

          "Agreed," she said, satisfied.

          "Good," Ray concluded.  "Now, you get some more rest.  Day after tomorrow you'll be flying down to California."

          "California?" she questioned.  "But what about—?"

          "There's an orthopedic surgeon there who's going to do a little more work on your shoulder," Suzanne explained.

          "Her name is Allison Richards.  I think the two of you will get along just fine," Ironhorse added, remembering the time he had been under the woman's care.  She could be worse than a drill instructor with piles, but she got results.

          "But what about Charlie and Mac?  I can't leave 'em alone, not after what—"

          "Your grandfather's staying here to get things taken care of," Ray interrupted her.  "As for Mac, the colonel here assures me that he knows another young lady who would just love the opportunity to spoil the monster while you're in the hospital."

          Aen looked suspicious.  "You already have all this arranged, don't you.  I can't even say no."

          "That's right," Suzanne said with a smile.  "Then you'll be staying with us for a while."

          "By then school's going to start again," Aen lamented.  Her face grew somber.  "I promised Mom and Dad I'd go to college, but now—"

          "You go," Ray said.  "What you're studying is very important.  Your father's work deserves to be carried on.  And Colonel Ironhorse and his people will be working on the alien problem."

          "That's right, until they're all destroyed," Paul concurred seriously.

          "We'll explain more about that when you come to see us," Blackwood said as he entered the room.  "I just spoke to General Wilson.  He's arranging your move to San Francisco day after tomorrow, and your security clearance so you can come stay with us.  And that, young lady, is not a feat easily accomplished.  We even have a resident computer wiz who'll be looking for someone to try his new games out on."

          "But Charlie's going to need me here, and—"

          "No buts, young lady," Suzanne said.  "He'll be in to see you later, but it's down to California for treatment, a stop over for an official debriefing – and maybe some fun while we're at it – and then it's back to school for you."

          Aen sighed heavily.  "I guess so."  She turned to look out the open window.  "But even after all that's happened, I'm going to miss being here.  It feels like I'm losing another part of me."

          Ray grinned.  "The wild country will be waiting for you.  And maybe you can help make sure that it stays that way – like your father."

          She nodded.  "I will.  It's my home.  When I finish school I am coming back here, but…"  She trailed off.

          "What?" Ray asked.

          Aen searched the faces of the people around her bed.  "But I have a feeling I'm going to end up fighting aliens first."

          "That war's over for you," Ironhorse said reassuringly.

          A wisdom Ray had not expected sparkled in the young woman's eyes.  "No, Colonel," she said, "not until it's really over."

The End


End file.
